


Alfalfa

by holyhael



Series: Flowers 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Date, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyhael/pseuds/holyhael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samandriel goes on his first date the summer before he turns seventeen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alfalfa

The first Sunday morning of summer has Samandriel in the garden. A cool sweat has broken over his neck with his light labor; his arms feel kind of loose and jell-like. But it's worth it to see the blue star creepers finally planted. Soon, they'll carpet a good portion of the garden bed, a blanket of tiny blue flowers and green leaves to accompany the long stalks of the butterfly-attracting bee balm and the large leaves of the newly-flowering coleus.

He's just about to stand up to admire his work from a height when something smacks the back of his head.

"Sorry!" a voice calls out. Samandriel turns and squints up to see the silhouette of another boy. The sun behind him casts all of his features into shadows. "I didn't mean to hit you."

"What? Oh." It's then that Samandriel spies the roll of newspaper that had hit his head. This is the newspaper boy then. He offers a hand to Samandriel to help him up, which he takes. The newspaper boy has a solid grip and sweaty hands; Samandriel hopes his own hands don’t get the other boy too dirty.

Now that they're on equal ground, Samandriel can see the other better. He has dark hair beneath his helmet, bright blue eyes, and tanned skin that tells Samandriel he spends plenty of time outdoors. He looks to be about the same age as Samandriel, though he's never seen him at school or at any of the popular hang outs in town. Which is a shame, he thinks, because as soon as more apologies and assurances are said, Samandriel will likely not see him again. And that makes him want to frown a little.

"It's okay," Samandriel says. "You didn't mean to."

"Let me make it up to you," the newspaper boy insists.

"Oh, no, you don't have you."

"Let me take you out to dinner," he says. The idea of seeing this attractive man again makes Samandriel hold his tongue, but he does nod. "I can come around at six thirty and we can go to Big Gerson's."

"That sounds good," Samandriel says, smiling. The newspaper boy smiles back, and he's just about to mount his bike and continue his route when Samandriel realizes that he doesn't know his name. "What's your name?"

"Castiel." He sits down on the bike, one foot on the ground to hold him steady.

"I'm Samandriel."

Castiel smiles. "I'll see you tonight."

"Okay."

Samandriel watches him as he rides down the rest of the street. The warmth in his cheeks has nothing to do with the sun.

+

He's never been on a date before. Sure, he's been asked out a few times, but each time Samandriel declined for some reason or another. Too much homework, a sick mother, an agriculture meeting or a fair. He's nearly seventeen and going on a date with the newspaper boy who'd thrown a roll at his head.

He calls Dean, who has infinitely more knowledge of dating than Samandriel can ever fathom, and says as much.

"Dude, you're just going to Big Gerson's," Dean says, amused. "That's even below Olive Garden. Relax."

"Yes, but-" He has so many questions, and of course the first one that comes out of his mouth is, "What do I wear?"

"It doesn't matter," Dean says. "Just don't overdo it. Fuck, you could go comando under a neon miniskirt with pasties and platform heels. It's  _Big Gerson's_."

Still, Samandriel wavers over his closet. It's six o'clock, the grass and dirt from working in the garden were scrubbed off his skin not twenty minutes ago, and he's got so many butterflies in his stomach that it feels like they might fly out of his mouth altogether.

"I want to make a good impression," he tells Dean. "I don't think dressing like a go-go dancer is going to do that."

"You never know. This guy could be kinky."

Samandriel rolls his eyes. "What do I look best in?"

"I don't know. Dude, just wear whatever you were wearing today. Odds are that's okay."

"You're very helpful, Dean."

"No problem."

Samandriel hangs up on him before he can give anymore advice - Samandriel doesn't know why he thought it would be a good idea to call Dean in the first place - and grabs a light blue henley.

+

Samandriel has worn a track into the living room carpet by the time there comes a knock on the door. The sound only acerbates the butterflies, but he's determined to do this. He wants to do this. Taking a deep breath, Samandriel opens the door.

Castiel is standing behind it, looking much cleaner than he was earlier. He’s not wearing a helmet anymore, so Samandriel can see that his hair isn’t very tame, though it looks like he tried to smooth it down. He's changed out of the clothes he was wearing before in favor of a blue cotton tee and cargo shorts.

"Good evening," Castiel greets.

"Hi."

"Are you ready?"

Samandriel nods. "Look, I haven't done this before-"

"Neither have I," Castiel admits, shocking Samandriel. With the ease he asked Samandriel out with earlier, Samandriel would have thought Castiel did this regularly. "I don't normally hit people with newspapers, either. My aim is usually much better."

"It's okay," Samandriel says. "If you hadn't, would we be here?"

Castiel smiles, almost sheepishly. "I guess not."

Samandriel shouts at his mom that he's leaving and gets a noncommittal noise in return that means okay. Castiel moves aside so Samandriel can step out and close the door behind him. There are butterflies and bumblebees flitting around from flower to flower in the garden; Samandriel and Castiel look at them as they pass and smile happily.

"I thought about bringing you flowers," Castiel says, "But I didn't know which ones you'd prefer."

"That's okay." That Castiel even considered getting flowers makes Samandriel feel like he's glowing. Maybe he is; he's certainly smiling wide enough. The nervousness he felt before burns off as their shoulders bump together, the back of their hands grazing each other. Why had he been nervous?

"For future reference, which do you prefer?"

"Alfalfa," he replies, not having to think about it. Then the words  _future reference_ hit his ears and he has to stop as Castiel gets on his bike. "Do you think there'll be a second date? We've barely begun this one."

"I'm hoping for it," Castiel says. "I didn't know alfalfa had flowers. I thought it was just hay."

Samandriel shakes his head. "It has flowers as well that are small, purple, and clustered together. I'd show you, but our alfalfa plant died several winters ago." That had been shortly after his step-dad passed away, but Samandriel doesn't want to ruin the night by mentioning that. Instead, he asks Castiel, "Where do I sit?"

Castiel pats the handlebars. "Up here."

"Is that safe?"

"Of course."

Well, Samandriel trusts him. He hops up, and though he does wobble a bit precariously, he does not lose balance. His hands grip the warm metal of the handlebars on either side of him tightly, knuckles turning white.

"I won't let you fall," Castiel promises. A warm brush of lips touches the wing of Samandriel's shoulder, startling him. He wants to turn around to see Castiel's face but he can't without losing balance. Instead, he clenches his teeth, nods, and holds on for dear life as Castiel peddles away from the house and down the street.

+

Big Gerson's is a hotspot for the teenagers in town. Samandriel has been with his friends a few times after school but they never ordered more than a few boats of fries and milkshakes. Now, with Castiel's prompting him to chose anything he wants from the menu, Samandriel feels daunted.

"I want the garden burger with a side of fries and a large drink," Castiel tells the cashier, who punches in the order and turns to Samandriel.

"Can I get you anything?" she asks.

"I'll have the same," Samandriel says.

The cashier nods and gives them a number card and two large cups. "Your number will be called when your order is complete. The drinking station is to your left. Have a seat wherever you like."

Castiel fills his cup with root beer while Samandriel goes with Sprite. They find a booth where the late afternoon sun shines through the thin curtains and bathes the table in dusty light. There's an advert for desserts and alcoholic beverages at the far end as well as salt, pepper, and a bowl of sugar packets.

"You don't go to Singer High School, do you?" Samandriel asks. "I haven't seen you there."

Castiel shakes his head. "I go to West Creek on the other side of town."

Samandriel tries not to feel too disappointed about that. He's been fantasizing already about kisses between classes, holding hands in the hallway, passing notes when the teacher's back is turned. Which is silly. Dean has forced him to watch too many cheesy movies, Samandriel decides. "I don't think my friends will appreciate me going out with a student from a rival school."

"Oh?"

"Especially Dean. He plays soccer. Whenever we play your team and lose, he always steals some of his dad's beer and goes to Charlie's house to play video games with her, Victor, and Benny."

This makes Castiel smile.

"Next time I see him on the field," Castiel says, "I'll try to take it easy."

"You play soccer too?"

"I'm the goalie."

“Block all of his kicks. He told me to dress like a go-go dancer tonight.”

Castiel chuckles, and it’s such an amazing sound that Samandriel feels like his heart melts a little.

“That would’ve been a funny sight,” Castiel says. “Adorable, but funny.”

Samandriel’s cheeks burn.

They launch into a conversation about other extracurricular activities next. Castiel tells Samandriel his stats in soccer, though the meaning of most of them go over Samandriel’s head. In turn, Samandriel tells Castiel about the agriculture club and the fairs they show their livestock in; Castiel promises to buy tickets for the next fair and stop by their booth.

"There are ferris wheels at the fair, right?" Castiel asks.

"It wouldn’t be a fair without them."

"Then maybe we can ride one and have our requisite kiss at the top."

"Beneath a starry sky," Samandriel adds dreamily. Castiel flashes a smile and they both lose themselves in the fantasy. "Too bad the fair begins in September."

Castiel nods in agreement. “We can wait.”

When their order is called, Castiel insists on Samandriel staying put while he brings it back. The burgers are as anticipated - less garden and more grease, the lettuce limp and the tomato unripe - but Samandriel doesn't mind too much. The fries are pretty much the only reason Big Gerson's managed to stay in business all these years, so as expected, they're the most delectable part of the meal. With their partially-eaten burgers to the side, Castiel squeezes a sizable dollop of ketchup onto the greasy paper that lines their tray and tops that with an equal amount of hot sauce.

"That's insane," Samandriel comments as Castiel drags a stiff french fry through the mass, catching mostly hot sauce. Castiel smirks and drops it into his mouth without flinching or wincing at the inevitable burn.

"It isn't that hot," Castiel says. He picks up another fry, gives it the same treatment as the first, and hands it to Samandriel. "Try it."

Samandriel hesitates to take the fry from him, but he does and eats it in quick succession. The hot sauce scalds his tongue and the roof of his mouth as soon as it makes contact, but Samandriel determinedly swallows the bite anyway.

“Maybe that was too much,” Castiel says with an apologetic look. Samandriel nods. “Would you like a milkshake? Dairy is good at alleviating the heat.”

Samandriel nods again. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Before Samandriel can realize what Castiel’s intentions are, he is leaning across the table and to press his lips to Samandriel’s. Shocked, Samandriel blinks at him for a moment. There’s a bite of hot sauce on the lips that suck on his, and even though it feels like his mouth is on fire, Samandriel closes his eyes and leans into it like it’s water.

“I just had to,” Castiel murmurs when they part, still only inches apart. Samandriel can see only a thin band of his irises surrounding his dilated pupils.

“That’s okay,” Samandriel says. “I liked that very much.”

“Good,” Castiel says. “I guess it’s too much to hope that helped at all.” His tone is jocular.

Samandriel chuckles. “Not quite.”

“Chocolate, strawberry, or vanilla?”

“Strawberry.”

Castiel kisses him once more before he leaves to order the milkshake. Though Samandriel finds that he doesn’t really mind the tingle Castiel left on his lips, his tongue and the back of his throat are really burning, so he’s relieved when Castiel returns with a tall, pink milkshake. There are two red straws poking from the top like antlers.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Castiel says.

“Of course not.” Samandriel draws one straw in and sucks deeply. The cool strawberry taste coats his tongue and draws out the heat. He sits back when his brain starts to hurt and sighs deeply.

“Is it that good?”

“Yes.”

When the chill leaves his brain, Samandriel dunks a fry into the shake and eats it. He eats the rest of his fries - and some of Castiel’s - this way, while Castiel continues to dip into his concoction of ketchup and hot sauce.

+

At the end of the evening, after Castiel paid for dinner and drove Samandriel home, they stand on the porch with their hands clasped. It began on the bike, though Samandriel doesn’t quite remember how they got to doing it, and they haven’t separated since. Samandriel kind of doesn’t want to, but he knows this is where their date ends. With a kiss on the lips, an exchanging of numbers, a promise to meet again, and perhaps another kiss.

“This was fun,” Castiel says as he looks down at their hands. His gaze turns up to meet Samandriel’s after a moment. In the darkness, there’s no discernible difference between his pupils and his irises. “We need to do this again.”

“Yes.”

Castiel smiles again at Samandriel’s eagerness and drops his gaze to their hands. “I can give you my number and you can call me later.”

“I’d like that, yes.”

Castiel produces a pen and paper from his pocket. Unfortunately, he has to let go of Samandriel’s to scribble down the number, but once he’s done he holds Samandriel’s hand and curls his fingers over the paper. “Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” he promises.

The butterflies return when Castiel kisses him again. This isn’t like their two kisses across the dining table. This is a long, lasting kiss, their tongues tentatively exploring each other, their groins pressed together so they can feel each other’s growing interest. As they gain confidence, Castiel’s hands come up to stroke the side of Samandriel’s head and grab onto his hair; he uses his hold to push Samandriel against the door, rattling the pictures on the inside wall with his force and causing Samandriel to open his mouth further with a gasp. Samandriel isn’t quite sure what to do with his own hands, but they travel instinctively to Castiel’s waist, and since they fit perfectly there, that’s where they stay, even when Castiel breaks the kiss to breathe heavily into Samandriel’s mouth.

“Your mom is in the house, right?”

The reminder makes the desperate need under Samandriel’s skin whine. “Right.”

“Maybe next time I can convince Michael to vacate the house,” Castiel says, “And we can finish our date in my room.”

“That sounds good.” More than good, really, but Samandriel’s brain is having difficulties finding the right word while Castiel thrusts his hips lightly into his own.

“Good.” Their lips meet again briefly. “Until next time.”

“Next time.”

Samandriel watches as Castiel pulls them apart, hops onto his bike, and rides away. When Castiel turns onto another street, Samandriel finally peels himself off of the door and goes inside.

That night, Samandriel thinks about the way Castiel smiles, the way he kisses, the firmness he felt against his own on the porch. He tries to keep his cries silent, and he likes to think he does a good job up until he finally reaches orgasm and shouts loud enough to alert his mom.

+

Samandriel calls Castiel the next day and receives no answer. The phone rings several times before clicking to voicemail. He leaves his name and number as the automated voice instructs him and signs off by saying, “Call me back.” The moment he pushes _end call_ , he realizes how desperate he probably sounds and wishes he could go back in time to undo the message. Castiel won’t call such a needy person back, would he?

+

He doesn’t.

+

Sunday morning, it just so happens that Samandriel has more gardening to do. He pulls weeds out from the soil and discards them in a pile to be composted. It’s mindless work, which is good, because he doesn’t want to think about how the real reason he’s out here is to see Castiel riding by again.

And then it hits him.

He turns around fast, but not fast enough. Castiel is already peddling past and delivering newspaper to the next houses. Sadness pierces Samandriel’s heart. Castiel is ignoring him, then. Great.

_At least we had one good night_ , Samandriel thinks. He has good memories, even though he’d rather continue them than let them sit in his head forever and collect dust.

He stretches as he stands up. He is going to leave the newspaper where it lies out of spite, but a bright neon pink beneath it catches his eye. Curious, he picks it up. The pink is a sticky note, and written on it are words in the same handwriting Castiel wrote his number with a week ago. _Sorry I didn’t call_ , the note reads. _I went beyond curfew and Michael grounded me for two weeks._

Oh. Samandriel pulls the note out from beneath the rubber band, but there’s nothing more to it. At least he knows why Castiel didn’t call back. At least there’s still a chance he wants to see him again. It’s enough to put a tentative smile on Samandriel’s face.

When he comes inside, his mom asks, “Is that the newspaper?”

“Yeah.” The sticky note is already in his pocket. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do with it, but he knows he’s not going to throw it away. He hands his mom the newspaper on his way to the kitchen for breakfast.

“Oh, look at that!” she exclaims after the band has been rolled off. Samandriel comes back with a nectarine in his hand. “Flowers. Someone wrapped the flowers and a note in the newspaper. And they’re addressed to you!”

“Flowers?”

He reaches for them. It’s a single stalk of a cluster of small, purple flowers. _Alfalfa_.

“Here’s the note. Who’s Castiel?”

Samandriel smiles and brings the flowers to his nose.


End file.
